


It would break your heart

by Ambros



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec Lightwood Deserves Nice Things, Angst, Character Study, Fluff, M/M, POV Alec
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-21 00:50:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11932887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambros/pseuds/Ambros
Summary: It’s not much, but it’s what you have to offer when he finds you.





	It would break your heart

**Author's Note:**

> I've been watching too many (beautiful) fanvideos about Alec and i've been talking about him with Fra too much, so I had to write this. I hope it's not too bad; let me know?

There isn’t one dent in your body that isn’t purposeful. You are shaped like a weapon, sharp and quick, efficient. You think like a soldier, duty first, you forgot to fit yourself into your life. They created a body they needed and you bent and twisted your soul to fit into it, cuts and scrapes all over it from the sharp edges you weren’t ready for.  


Your will was worn thin by disappointment, like the hilt of a sword, ready to be gripped, grasped, and you let it happen.

You don’t know anything different.

You are used to rough fingers, harsh words, like hammers against the iron skin wrapped around your bones they make you shift and break, again and again, nobody seems to realize that the deeper they go, the less of you is left to change.

Sometimes you wonder how long until you break, how much of you can be carved out before what’s left isn’t enough to hold you up.

You wonder if maybe that’s the perfection everyone seems to be pushing you towards. A heartless soldier that can’t be broken simply because there is nothing left to break.

(You still protect your heart. You hide it behind walls and self-loathing, like a child with a treasure he’s not supposed to have, you hold on to it guided by instinct, but you don’t know how to take care of it because nobody showed you. 

Sometimes you grip it too tightly and it barely keeps beating, you try to keep it still and you scratch it, sometimes you wish it gone.

It’s not much, but it’s what you have to offer when he finds you.)

His fingers brush your skin like he doesn’t expect it to be indestructible, like he doesn’t expect anything but what you are. 

Like he’s not disappointed by what he finds.

Like you couldn’t be anything different, anything better.

He holds you, but not like a weapon.

He digs with his fingers into your skin and he breaks you and gently lays the pieces at your feet. He says _look_ and you pick them up, rearrange them until they look like you. You don’t think they look like much but he looks at you with wonder in his eyes.

Sometimes his fingers stumble on a scar you thought you’d hidden well, and you shrug and say _that’s what soldiers get_ and he strokes your cheek like he thinks that’s not what _you_ should get.

He sees your heart through the cracks in your skin and he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t touch, cups it with his hands like it’s something precious. He leaves it in your chest after he’s turned it into gold.

And when he kisses you he kisses the words you never said, the truths you never told that made you who you are, and when he loves you he loves how soft you are, your courage and the corner you carved out for yourself, he loves the soldier and the man who made him human.


End file.
